Here Comes Trouble

by Leslie Kelly

  She still couldn’t believe she’d thrown herself into his arms like that. Not that she regretted it—but it hadn’t exactly been planned. And once in his arms, she hadn’t known what was going to happen next, though her legs being around his waist had been a pretty strong indication.

  Remembering the massive bulge that had given her such intense pleasure, even through their clothing, she shivered. She couldn’t even fathom how it might feel skin to skin.

  “I don’t know the whole story,” he said, obviously not noticing her trip off to lust-land. “From the rumors I’ve heard, and from what Roderick—my grandfather’s right-hand man—was able to find out, it appears a lot of public money was stolen by a former town official. It was never recovered and they had to keep mortgaging their assets to keep going. Eventually there was nothing left to mortgage.”

  “Sad.”

  “People lost their jobs, couldn’t afford to stay, so they moved away. Businesses closed.”

  “And the town died.”

  He nodded.

  “Until your grandfather decided to bring it back to life.”

  As always, an expression of rueful amusement crossed Max’s face when his grandfather was mentioned. “Mortimer does like lost causes.”

  Curious about something the old man had said during dinner one evening, she had to ask. “Did he really save the life of a Saudi prince? And is there really a private palace reserved for him whenever he goes to visit there?”

  “Who knows? Anything’s possible. Just as he might really have shared a few cigars with Churchill after the war. And perhaps really was supposed to have dinner with Marilyn Monroe the week she died. With Grandfather, you just never know.”

  Somehow, that seemed a good thing. “I think I like not being sure.”

  Max’s eyes crinkled and that genuinely pleased smile brought out a glorious dimple in his cheek. “Never being sure is what makes it so damn fun.”

  Their stares met and she sensed something—approval? Appreciation? Admiration? Something…

  Max seemed pleased that she liked the old man. But how could anyone not? She wasn’t the only one, either. Considering Mortimer’s social calendar, he appeared to be quite popular among the remaining residents of Trouble.

  “Now, shall we?” he asked. He tapped on the counter, nodding toward an invisible worker behind it. “Large popcorn, with butter, one Coke and two straws.” Then, glancing at Sabrina out of the corner of his eye, he asked, “Lemonheads?”

  Playing along, she shook her head. “No, thank you. And no butter, either.”

  Glancing at her, he narrowed his eyes and rolled a steady, appreciative look from the top of her head to the tip of her feet. “Make that extra butter. With her figure, this woman has not one thing to worry about.”

  “You get everything you want with that charm?” she asked, laughing in spite of herself.

  Max shrugged. “Not everything, Sabrina.”

  Oh, she liked how he said her name. All sweet and sexy, like the man himself. As if he knew he was too hot to resist but it hadn’t made him cocky. Just so incredibly confident. Playful. Irresistible.

  “I wonder how many couples had their first dates in this place,” he mused.

  “Thought this wasn’t a date. After all, you don’t even know me, so it’s merely an investment field trip, right?”

  Not that she and Max had even talked about the whole investment nonsense for the past few days. No, since Saturday in the tavern their relationship had been strictly personal—playful, flirtatious, at times serious and sensuous. There’d been no business at all since before their kisses. Before she’d moved into his backyard. Before that strange but revealing conversation they’d had at the carousel the day before.

  The conversation which had explained everything about this man.

  “Okay, not a date,” he agreed, his tone steady. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  It wasn’t. Definitely wasn’t. But she couldn’t find the words to admit that now. She’d been trying to find those words—to figure out how to make her next move—ever since their talk about his divorce.

  The revelations at the carousel had cleared up all of Sabrina’s confusion, and erased many of her doubts regarding Max’s character. Because hearing about the crazy soap-opera ending of Max’s marriage had made her understand so much more about the man.

  What red-blooded American male wouldn’t have tried to erase the bitter memories of his awful marriage by going out and proving his manhood with as many women as he could? Max might laugh now, saying he couldn’t have competed against the person his wife had cheated with. But Sabrina would lay money he hadn’t realized that right away.

  She was only speculating. But it made perfect sense. Sabrina didn’t know a woman who wouldn’t have done the same thing. Either that, or eaten so much chocolate she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see her naked ever again.

  “I’ve got to go up to the projection booth,” he said. “I have the instructions on how to run the equipment, but it might take me a couple of minutes.”

  “You’re sure about this?” She looked at the rickety stairs leading to the upper floor of the building. “There could be just about anything lurking around in this place.”

  “Zombie ticket-takers?” he asked with a laugh, looking amused. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”

  Oh, a very big boy. One who could definitely take care of himself. So why did Sabrina feel so protective of the man all of a sudden?

  Maybe it was because she knew he hadn’t told her everything. Sabrina knew there was more. A shadow in his eyes, a regretful tone in his voice—they told her there was something about the divorce he didn’t want to talk about.

  Which had to be his womanizing, and regrets about his past.

  According to Grace’s book, she’d met Max a few years ago, obviously after his marriage had fallen apart. And he must still have been in some kind of need-to-prove-himself mode. So, though it killed Sabrina to think of the vivid details, she knew Grace had been telling the truth, at least about the affair.

  She’d always known Max was sexy enough to be the kind of lover Grace had described, she just hadn’t been able to put this man’s face to that callous, heartbreaking character. Or the, um, somewhat raunchy one.

  Now she could—at least a little bit. Now she understood.

  But somehow, Sabrina couldn’t blame Max for it anymore. In fact, her heart broke for him. To be married so young—obviously seeking a normal family. Like the one he’d been denied as a child, perhaps? Because judging by some things Mortimer had said over the past few days, Max and his brothers’ lives had been anything but normal.

  He’d grown up, reached out to someone, tried to create something he’d never had—and been smacked in the face by a double betrayal. His wife’s infidelity and her dishonesty about who she really was.

  Who she really was.

  Sabrina acknowledged a quick flash of dismay. Because she hadn’t been entirely honest, either. He had no idea what she was doing here in Trouble.

  Keeping that secret was wrong.

  Telling him would be worse.

  Not merely because of his anger—and the cost it would have for her—but because she just didn’t want him to experience that again. She did not want Max to feel he’d been made a fool of for a second time, tricked by a woman who’d claimed to be one thing when she was really something else.

  No. She couldn’t come clean with him entirely, but deep inside she was already deciding on ways to make amends.

  Before she could decide exactly how to go about that, her cell phone rang. Grabbing it, she answered, keeping an eye out for Max on the stairs.

  “What’s going on? I haven’t heard from you in days!”

  “Nancy, I’m sorry,” she replied, almost wishing she hadn’t answered. Sabrina hadn’t been keeping her boss in the loop for a couple of reasons—first, because she already knew she was letting her growing feelings for Max interfere with her judgment. And s
econd, because Nancy was her friend and would almost certainly get overprotective if she thought Sabrina was doing something stupid. Like losing her heart to a playboy.

  But Sabrina just didn’t want to hear any “all men are scum” lectures right now.

  “What’s going on? Have you got the dirt on him? What do we do about the book?”

  At last, something she could respond to. Sabrina definitely knew how to answer the last question. “Grace is going to have to revise it.”

  After a pause—and a sigh—Nancy said, “So it wasn’t true, huh? He’s not really the sexual stud of the western world?”

  “Well, yeah, he sort of is. But he’s not the heartbreaking reprobate she made him out to be.”

  Another pause. Then, her tone careful, Nancy asked, “Sabrina, are you doing something reckless?”

  “If by reckless you mean am I letting myself fall for a twisted sex fiend, the answer is no.” Because he wasn’t one.

  “That wasn’t the question.”

  She hadn’t thought so.

  “Is there something going on between you and Taylor?”

  Sabrina wished she could explain. But Max wasn’t the kind of man who could be summed up in a phone conversation. A short conversation—which this would have to be, since he could return at any moment.

  Too bad she couldn’t tell the truth about his past, because if anyone would understand and empathize, it was Nancy. She loathed sexual posers and had ever since she’d had her heart broken by a woman who couldn’t decide what she wanted.

  But Max’s confidence had been private, and Sabrina had to respect that. “Look, I think the affair happened, but I also think Grace invented a lot of the more sordid stuff…and the aftermath—his supposed cruelty and callousness. She wanted him. They had a fling. But I believe he was the one who decided to move on and she is trying to punish him for it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  No. She wasn’t sure at all. She just knew Max was not the kind of man who’d have slept with Grace for weeks, then seduced her best friend—and her maid—and invited Grace to join them all in a group sex-fest. Or the kind who’d have been cutting and cruel when ending their affair. If anyone had been vengeful at the end of that relationship, she’d lay serious money it was Grace Wellington. Because she was still going after Max—in print—a few years after the fact.

  “It is my professional opinion that she did some serious padding of her memoir purely as payback and to titillate her readers.”

  Nancy responded with a dry laugh. “Well, stop the presses, imagine an author doing that.”

  “And,” Sabrina added, “that we could damage this man’s reputation and bring serious legal ramifications on the publisher if we proceed as written.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “First I’m going to have a talk with Grace.”

  And she would. Because while she had no doubt Max had had a fling with the woman, and that he’d probably waltzed off with someone else as soon as he’d lost interest, she simply couldn’t believe he’d been the cold heartbreaker Grace had made him out to be. Not even shortly after his divorce when he’d been a lot angrier than he was now.

  It just wasn’t in him. He had no cruelty. No deceit. He was simply a charming, playful guy—who was too sexy for his own good. A flirt who’d once been so badly wounded he was never going to let his heart be vulnerable to a woman again.

  Max loved women—Sabrina knew that as surely as she knew she was never going to miraculously wake up one morning and be a D cup. Unfortunately, Sabrina suspected he loved all women a little but would never love one woman a lot. It simply wouldn’t be possible for him. And woe to any woman who didn’t figure that out before being stupid enough to lose her heart to him.

  Which, perhaps, was what Grace Wellington had done. If she’d gotten her heart broken, it was probably because she’d mentally built her relationship with Max into something it wasn’t. Something he’d never intended it to be.

  Like she was doing?

  “Okay, that’s good enough for me,” Nancy said. “When are you coming back?”

  Good question. If only she knew the answer. “I have some vacation time coming.”

  “Sabrina…”

  “I know, I know. I’m an idiot. But he’s really not the man we read about in that book, Nancy.” She quickly clarified, “I mean, he is every bit as sexy and desirable, but he’s also adorably sweet and charming. I’ve never seen a moment of cruelty in him, and he’s never once suggested anything inappropriate, much less obscene.”

  “Your call, kid,” Nancy said. “I told you from the get-go that you were due for a fling, so you’re not going to hear any argument from me. Just don’t let your heart get tangled up in any of this.”

  “No chance of that happening,” she said, then ended the call and disconnected.

  Even if she’d ever entertained the slight possibility that she could allow herself to develop feelings for Max, his honest assessment of how unlikely he was to trust a woman again—or commit to one—had put that out of her head. When it came to Max Taylor, she expected nothing—no long term, no happily ever after.

  No love.

  Because though Max was obviously the kind of guy a woman could easily fall head over heels for, Sabrina wouldn’t allow that. She liked him. She wanted him. But loving a guy like Max—a sweetheart, a free-spirit, a heartbreaker—would be the stupidest thing she could do.

  That didn’t mean she was ready to walk away from him, to go back to Philadelphia and forget they’d ever met. Not yet. There were a few things she wanted to take care of first, a few more moments to steal with the man. Moments of fun and laughter…

  “And sex,” she murmured, acknowledging it out loud for the first time. She watched the stairs for his return, wondering if he’d see her red cheeks and instantly know what she was thinking.

  What she was thinking was that she wanted the man desperately. Wanted crazy wild hot sex.

  “So have it. Take it,” she whispered, wondering why the good-girl voice deep inside wasn’t screeching an enormous No! at the very idea.

  Heck, maybe even good girls knew when it was time to stop fighting something that was inevitable and would be so damn good.

  So do it. Take what you can. Then she could go home, straighten Grace out and proceed with the project. Without allowing it to ruin Max’s reputation. Without regrets.

  Without him.

  “You ready for the feature film?”

  Sabrina jerked around, not believing he’d come back down the stairs and caught her standing there mentally lusting over him. But his friendly smile told her he hadn’t read anything into her pink face and ragged breathing. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed the way her blouse draped over the rigid points of her nipples.

  Then she looked again, saw the hungry, aware expression on his face, and knew there was not a single thing Max Taylor didn’t notice.

  He reached the bottom step and came closer, moving slowly, and her imaginative mind suddenly saw him as a sexy predator—the man Grace had seen.

  But that man didn’t exist. She knew it down to her toes.

  He extended his arm, maybe to lead her into the abandoned theater. Maybe to lead her somewhere else. “Shall we?”

  She didn’t take it. Instead, she simply stared at him, wondering why her throat was so tight and her middle so empty.

  It didn’t take much wondering.

  Sabrina didn’t know how much longer she had, and suddenly this cat-and-mouse game of flirt and retreat, kiss and push away, just seemed foolish. Wasteful. For whatever time she had left in Trouble—however much longer she could justify being away from work now that she knew what she was going to do about the book—she wanted to spend it the right way.

  And that definitely wasn’t sitting in a dusty movie theater watching a thirty-year-old film and eating imaginary popcorn.

  “Max?”

  He lowered his arm.

  “Maybe I do want to
call this a date.”

  One brow lifted and his eyes glittered in the half light. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded.

  He hesitated for one long moment, during which he silently asked her a number of questions. She answered as many of them as she could with her eyes, knowing he knew exactly what she meant and exactly what she wanted.

  Him. Them. Now.

  Then, instead of kissing her, pulling her into his arms, throwing her on the counter and pounding into her until the whole thing gave way beneath them, he grabbed her hand and strode toward the door, tugging her after him.

  “Wha—”

  “There’s something you should know about me,” he muttered over his shoulder. “I don’t take dates to the movies.”

  Oh, boy. “So where are we going?”

  He didn’t even pause as he pushed the door open and blinded them both with the bright sunshine.

  “Flying.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PETER HAD BEEN in the piece-of-shit town of Trouble, Pennsylvania, for two days. And not only had he not seen Sabrina Cavanaugh or her sister, he still had no idea what the hell they were doing here. He was beginning to curse his crazy impulse to follow them, still not knowing exactly what he could accomplish now—here—that he couldn’t do whenever they returned to the city.

  But something wouldn’t let him wait. His need to hurt her some more, probably. Because every day he spent in Philadelphia was another day he remembered how he’d been driven away. All because of Sabrina. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything tying him to the city; there was no reason to hurry back.

  One positive thing was that this town—which had sounded familiar to him for some reason when Jane, his former secretary, named it—was small. So he had no problem finding out where the Cavanaugh sisters were. His landlord at the inn had been happy to fill him in.

  The man, Mr. Fitzweather, wore a long women’s-style sarong and walked on crutches. He had had a lot to say about Peter’s ex-girlfriend, and it was easy to get him talking on the subject. By, for instance, saying something like, “So you’re really telling me that this woman allowed her fierce dog to maul you?”